


Steadfast

by Rubynye



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve hasn't changed a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> All Thanks To: [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/) for the Twelfth Porn Battle and whomever prompted "James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers, before & after"  
> 

Jesus H. Christ, Bucky thinks, matching the cadence of his mental cursing to the rise and fall of Steve's massive chest under his hand. Jesus, H., Christ, but Steve hasn't changed a bit.

Well, maybe on the outside, from the newly chiseled line of his jaw on down. As lightly as he can, Bucky traces a finger along the sturdy line of Steve's collarbones, remembering when they looked like twigs, and over the broad firm curve of the pec covering what used to be skin-veneered ribs. Bucky thought he had good abs -- he sure works for them -- but Steve's are better now, and his legs are longer than a Rockette's, his feet hanging off the bed. He's the taller one now, and every time Bucky looks _up_ at Steve's face...

But it's the same face, despite the squared-off jaw. Bucky leans over him, watching Steve sleep the same way he always did, head tipped back, girly lashes fanned out over his cheekbones, lips parted like they're waiting for something. Bucky forgot, when he came back with Steve tonight, that they wouldn't be able to fit into one bed like they used to, but he couldn't remember anything when he looked into Steve's _eyes_ , clear as day and deep enough to drown in. He couldn't see anything besides that little double line between those eyes as Steve asked, "What you said before, about following the kid from Brooklyn who wouldn't quit, did you mean it?"

Bucky meant it, he means it. He'll follow Steve to the gates of Hell, twice over now that Steve walked into Hell to get him out. He said as much, and even though Steve's hands came at him straight on rather than from below, half again as long and twice as wide on Bucky's shoulders as they used to be, Steve's lunge and kiss and blush were all exactly the same. Even the taste of his skin was the same, the smooth vibrant firmness under Bucky's tongue, though now it stretches over all this hard muscle instead of those skinny little bones he used to count.

Even in the nighttime dimness, Steve gleams a bit, and Bucky runs his eyes all over him the way he wants to run his hands, the way he did before when Steve laid down in his arms as trustingly as ever, looking up at Bucky one more time. Bucky maps Steve's six-pack with featherlight fingertips and remembers how protective he used to feel, wrapping Steve up in his arms, watching the pulse beat in his fragile throat and his bottom lip tremble when his breath started coming hard, the stick leg Steve always flung across his ribs.

Tonight Bucky had instead miles of hot skin over hard muscle, thighs like columns and damn, they even made him more hung somehow. Bucky grins as he thinks that, as he remembers Steve reaching for his with both hands like always and realizing he only needed one. But Steve gripped Bucky's hip with the spare hand -- he can feel the sweet little bruises pressed over the bone -- and his earnest bottomless eyes were exactly the same as ever as he grinned at Bucky and gasped, as they rolled back when he came. Bucky couldn't help kissing Steve between those eyes, or feeling as protective as always.

Bucky's arm twinges beneath him, so he shifts carefully, trying not to fall off the bed. Steve's kind of hogging it -- he can't help it, his shoulders are twice as wide, and Bucky presses his arm to Steve's like he's leaning against a warm wall, makes himself stop staring and looks up at the ceiling instead. In the morning it'll be the same, too, they'll get dressed and slap each other on the back and be guys. They _are_ guys, they like girls, this started like it always does with one of them mooning over a dame --

\-- except that this time, instead of resigned, Steve sounds hopeful about this Agent Carter, and he should, because when that knockout walked into the bar she thought the place was empty except for Steve. Bucky bites his lip and thinks of what Steve'll look like with her, kissing, holding hands, what she'll think of all these planes and muscles, the restrained strength in Steve's hands and the tender quiver of Steve's lip.

But Bucky gets to know what he was like before.

He turns his head for one last look and finds Steve's eyes fluttering open, dark and drowsy. "Hey, Bucky, I -- aw, I'm sorry!" Steve scoots away, curling up onto his side. "Why'd you let me hog the bed?"

"Captain America needed his beauty sleep," Bucky teases, and watches Steve's big honest grin, the familiar tumble of hair over his eyes.

Steve punches him in the shoulder, lightly, carefully, and because it's not morning yet he flattens his hand out over the invisible dents from his knuckles. "What about you, Barnes, did you even get a wink?" He gives Bucky's shoulder a squeeze, slow and warm, as he adds, "You look like you've been thinking all night."

"Maybe I have," Bucky says, shrugging into Steve's hold.

Steve frowns a little, glancing down at himself, the lots and lots there is to see. "Yeah, um, I'm a little different now, huh?"

"Actually," Bucky answers, lifting his hand to his shoulder, wrapping his fingers over Steve's, "I was thinking about how much you're still the same."


End file.
